As state lawmakers enter the home stretch of the 2024 regular session, Gov. Jeff Landry and his Republican allies continue to promote Landry’s idea of making the governor all powerful and citizens less informed about — and less protected from — his power grabs.
So far, lawmakers have given Landry virtually everything he has asked (many would say demanded) of them, such as seizing control of the state’s public defender system, repealing most if not all criminal justice reforms, and pursuing legislation exempting him —and all other elected officials and government agencies — from the state’s Public Records Law.
But the centerpiece of Landry’s power play remains the least understood item on his agenda: rewriting the Louisiana Constitution of 1974.
Landry stands on solid ground when he notes that the state’s foundational charter is long and clunky. It has been amended more than 200 times and contains numerous provisions that other states relegate to statutes that can be revised or removed by a majority vote of the Legislature. Amending the state constitution, by contrast, requires a two-thirds vote of each legislative chamber and voter approval in a statewide referendum.
However, Landry has revealed few specifics about the foundational changes he wants to make. Given his “everything, everywhere, all at once” approach to upending decades of critical legislation, his proposed “drive-by” constitutional convention scares the hell out of civil libertarians, transparency advocates, good government watchdog organizations and many others who, less than four months into Landry’s tenure as governor, already don’t trust him.
To give readers an idea of what may soon happen — and why it matters to every Louisianan — here’s a primer on what happened the last time Louisiana rewrote its constitution, what Landry proposes now, what it could mean to average citizens, and how it all fits into Landry’s strongman agenda.
The 1973 Constitutional Convention
Louisiana’s current constitution was written by a convention of 132 delegates who began their task in January 1973. The way that convention was designed seemed simple enough. Lawmakers passed “enabling legislation” that set the process in motion and specified who could be delegates, how they would be chosen, the scope of their work, and how the rewrite would occur.
Voters subsequently elected 105 delegates from state House of Representatives districts, and the governor appointed another 27. While a significant number of elected delegates were already legislators, many others were regular folks who wanted to have a hand in rewriting the long, cumbersome Louisiana Constitution of 1921.
“You had a lot of ordinary citizens [who] didn’t have any major political ambitions,” said one 1973 delegate who asked not to be identified.
During the 1973 constitutional convention the public was given a much larger role in drafting the constitution, including public meetings such as this one.
The enabling legislation also mandated that the 27 appointed delegates reflect specific political and demographic interests, guaranteeing the effort at least a measure of diversity. That meant the oil and gas industry, labor, women, youths and other interests each had at least one seat at the table.
Equally if not more important, the enabling legislation called for staff to draft a proposed new state charter and submit it to delegates for debate — and an up-or-down vote — with no amendments allowed. Delegates had one year to complete the task, starting on Jan. 5, 1973.
That, at least, was the plan.
Delegates had different ideas.
According to LaPolitics.com publisher Jeremy Alford, who literally wrote the book on the 1973 convention (titled, fittingly, “The Last Constitution”), a small group of delegates gathered at The Pastime, a popular Baton Rouge eatery and hangout, on the evening before the convention began and mapped out a plan to give delegates a hands-on role in writing the proposed new constitution.
'The Last Constitutuion' by Jeremy Alford
When all 132 delegates convened for the first time the next morning, the Pastime cabal submitted for adoption a bar napkin bearing the outlines of their plan for a much more granular drafting process than that anticipated in the enabling legislation. It passed easily.
Delegates’ first major decision set an important precedent: Once a constitutional convention begins, delegates can ignore the enabling legislation and chart their own course, both in terms of how they proceed and what they choose to write or rewrite. It also created a transparent drafting process — and guaranteed significant public input.
Delegates spent months discussing potential new provisions with voters at public forums across the state, and media outlets gave front-page coverage to delegates’ daily grind of constitutional draftsmanship. That wouldn’t have been possible under the enabling legislation.
That level of transparency and public input had an enormous impact on the current constitution’s final provisions and language. The process also allowed changes to be made right up to the time delegates overwhelmingly approved the final draft on January 19, 1974 — some two weeks after their initial one-year deadline.
Most importantly, the proposed new constitution that Louisiana voters approved on April 20, 1974 had been thoroughly vetted during and after the drafting process. It also contained many compromises that gave it just enough buy-in from special interest groups and the public to assure its adoption.
How Landry’s approach differs
Landry’s proposed constitutional rewrite stands in stark contrast to the 1973 convention in several important ways — including who will be delegates, the scope of the convention’s work, the timeline for completing that work, the level of transparency, and the opportunity for public input and comment during the drafting process.
The first key difference in Landry’s approach is his idea of denying voters any say in who serves as delegates. Instead of voters electing most delegates, Landry wants all members of the state House and Senate to serve as delegates, along with 27 individuals of his choosing.
“Noticeably absent from conversations about the proposed convention is any talk about giving average Louisiana citizens a chance to speak out about this before it gets drafted,” Alford said. “Our elected officials don’t have a comfort level with that idea, or even any interest in it.”
In the memorable words of Judge Smails in “Caddyshack,” Landry and his allies are effectively telling voters, “You’ll get nothing — and like it!”
Moreover, the enabling legislation does not require Landry to give any specific groups or demographics a voice at the convention. One interest group, however, will be heavily represented, according to a list of prospective appointees announced by Landry: big business and other major campaign donors.
In another contrast to the year-long, full rewrite undertaken in 1973-74, Landry initially proposed an eight-week convention running from May 20 to July 15. In the face of severe pushback from the state Senate, he switched to a two-week “limited” convention that he says will merely remove surplus language from the 1974 charter. But, as happened in 1973, once delegates convene, they can chart their own course — and Landry could still wield enormous influence.
The governor’s plan would see lawmaker-delegates meeting concurrently with the final two weeks of the annual legislative session. That, says Alford, would give Landry a strong hand in shaping the proposed rewrite — because Louisiana governors have line-item veto authority over the state’s major budget bills, which will be on the legislative calendar at the same time.
Assuming lawmakers agree to a “limited” convention at some point — which the current constitution doesn’t expressly allow — and then agree on a set of amendments (or even a full rewrite, if they and Landry choose), Landry desperately wants the proposed revisions to appear on the Nov. 5 ballot.
Alongside the presidential election.
Everyone agrees the November referendum date would guarantee a high turnout from Republicans, thanks to former president Donald Trump being on the ballot.
Whatever the ultimate timeline, Landry’s proposal for a drive-by convention gives delegates — and voters — no time for meaningful debate and input.
In fact, most Capitol observers believe Landry already has a “secret” rewrite, which he has kept under wraps because he doesn’t want to give anyone time to tinker with it.
Alford also points out that, unlike in ‘73, lobbyists will have unfettered — and opaque — access to delegates. During the 1973 convention, lobbyists had to register and wear identifying badges. Landry’s proposal requires none of that.
Lastly, and incredibly, if this year’s convention goes beyond its scheduled end date, Landry’s proposal allows lobbyists and other private “donors” to pick up the tab for delegates’ expenses — including food, lodging, transportation and more — thus ensuring any proposed revisions protect their interests.
What does this mean for you?
The short answer is nobody knows yet. That should alarm every Louisianan, but here we are.
The only certainty is that Landry wants to consolidate even more power in the executive branch. For example, he wants to appoint all justices to an enlarged (but currently elected) state Supreme Court. That would give him effective control of at least two branches of state government, on top of his dominance over the House of Representatives.
He also aspires to control critical levers of power in New Orleans, which the current constitution limits (or prohibits) in significant ways.
Big polluters' lobbyists will have an enormous influence on what the Louisiana constitution says if Jeff Landry has his way.
"The governor’s influence is everywhere now,” said Alford. “It’s like an octopus. His tentacles extend to the House, the Senate, the lobbying corps — everywhere.”
In the end, Landry’s proposed rewrite of Louisiana’s foundational charter could make him — and future governors — virtual dictators.
Currently, the three branches of government serve as co-equal guardians against each other's excesses. Landry’s drive-by convention — if voters approve its work in November — could render that critically important balance of power a quaint, meaningless relic.
Landry insists the convention will focus on removing restrictive provisions that tie the hands of governors and legislatures during tight fiscal times.
The enabling legislation limits the convention’s scope to a handful of articles — and expressly excludes changes to the current constitution’s protection of individual rights.
In theory, that means the convention will be purely technical in nature and won’t lead to more restrictive prohibitions on abortion, or constitutional definitions of gender, or reduced civil rights protections.
That theory seems benign enough, but delegates to the 1973 convention set the precedent for ignoring the enabling legislation. Last time, that occurred against the wishes of then-Gov. Edwin Edwards, who campaigned on a pledge to give voters a new constitution. This time, Landry was crickets on that topic as a candidate for governor — and he has set his own precedent for surprise agendas.
Calling for a constitutional convention ranks high among his surprises. What’s potentially at stake are things that affect every Louisiana citizen — and sometimes vex lawmakers when they try to adopt a budget.
For example, the current constitution protects funding for much of K-12 education, which is good. But, in lean budget years, that comes at the expense of higher-ed and public health care, which is bad.
Other current provisions deal with critically important safeguards, such as civil service, higher education governance, the sanctity of retirement systems, the requirement for open government, the ethics code and the requirement of an ethics board and the Revenue Estimating Conference — a change that was added after adoption in 1974.
There also are limitations on the state’s bonded debt, dedicated funding for the Wildlife and Fisheries Department, for levee boards and flood protection, ports, sheriffs, DA’s, clerks and many others.
Most of all, the constitution as originally written — and as it has ballooned via amendments since its adoption in 1974 — reflects citizens’ mistrust of power-hungry politicians as much as special interests’ goal of self-preservation.
Any or all of that could be up for removal in Landry’s convention.
Which leads to a critically important question: What, specifically, will Landry’s convention remove? And when will he tell us — after GOP mega-donor and self-proclaimed “kingmaker” Lane Grigsby, who is considered the driving force behind a constitutional rewrite, tells Landry what he wants taken out?
“The one big lesson from the 1973 convention is that the enabling legislation means absolutely nothing once the delegates convene,” said Alford. “They can put anything they want in the proposed revisions.”
Legal and political risks
Alford and other observers agree that a “limited” constitutional convention and Landry’s hidden agenda put delegates in uncharted legal waters.
Even if delegates follow the enabling legislation’s script, and even if voters approve the ensuing proposition in November, the convention itself — and delegates’ work — still may not be legal under the current constitution.
Sen. Heather Cloud is one of Landry's anti-democratic foot soldiers in the legislature this year.
Legal challenges to the convention itself are almost a certainty, says Alford, and they could arise on several fronts. For starters, the current constitution does not expressly authorize a “limited” constitutional convention. It’s also silent as to whether any convention that includes all state lawmakers could be held concurrently with an annual legislative session.
Those and other issues might not be sorted out until after the proposed November referendum.
At the same time, voters may well view the rush to change the state’s foundational document with skepticism.
That happened once before.
In 1992, state lawmakers declared themselves delegates to a “limited” constitutional convention that focused on removing or revising fiscal constraints on taxation and spending — very much as Landry currently proposes.
In a November 1992 referendum — which also coincided with a presidential ballot — Louisiana voters overwhelmingly rejected (by a 62-38 margin) the “all or nothing” ballot proposition.
On that same day, voters also shot down a separate proposed amendment that would have expressly authorized the Legislature to call limited constitutional conventions. The separate amendment no doubt was intended to validate lawmakers’ use of a “limited” convention — but voters would have none of it. It failed by a 61-39 margin.
Since then, constitutional students and scholars have concluded that voters definitively answered any questions about the validity of “limited” constitutional conventions. In fact, no governor since that 1992 plebiscite — except Landry — has suggested calling a “limited” constitutional convention.
Ultimately, the people serve up their own surprises: They aren’t nearly as dumb as politicians think they are.
Meanwhile, back at the Capitol
Nothing is happening in a vacuum, of course.
Republicans in the House have rallied behind Landry’s agenda of creating an authoritarian governor with wide-ranging authority and no oversight or transparency.
As a candidate for governor last fall, Landry focused almost exclusively on crime, particularly in New Orleans. The majority-Black city was a convenient political punching bag for the then-attorney general. Landry vowed to use his office to bring crime down, a promise he kept by establishing a permanent State Police presence in the city.
He didn’t stop there, however.
Rep. Beau Beaullieu, R-New Iberia, right (seen here in 2021), wants to give Gov. Landry unprecedented powers.
His task force on the Sewerage & Water Board telegraphed Landry’s goal of centralizing power in his office — and bending the Crescent City to his will.
Meanwhile, he used a federal court-mandated special session on congressional redistricting to propose ditching the state’s popular open primary system and revert to a system of separate, closed party primaries. Lawmakers watered down that idea but still opened the door a host of other changes to how voters elected public officials at every level.
A subsequent special session, which focused on crime, further consolidated control in the executive branch, most notably by putting the public defender’s office under Landry’s control.
In the current annual session, Landry has backed efforts to give him unfettered control over almost all state boards and commissions — including those that govern higher education systems — and to eviscerate Louisiana’s public records law.
Hundreds of state boards and commissions touch almost every aspect of life in Louisiana. Some govern critical public services such as licensing physicians, nurses, and dentists. Others oversee popular but not life-saving activities such as florists or boxing.
In the most important areas, such as medical licensing and higher education governance (and many others), members of boards and commissions serve staggered terms. That’s done deliberately — to prevent any governor from upending decades of stable regulation and policymaking overnight.
Sen. Valarie Hodges is working with Landry to erode democratic institutions in the state.
This is seen as a stabilizing function, not a bug.
Landry sees it as a problem that must be removed — by giving him unprecedented power to impose his will, and his right-wing ideology, across all levels of government in Louisiana.
Another key component of Landry’s surprise agenda is a handful of bills to reduce if not eliminate government transparency. Senate Bill 682, by Republican Sen. Heather Cloud of Turkey Creek, would create a near-blanket exemption from public records laws for elected officials, departments, boards and other entities at all levels of government in Louisiana.
Cloud’s bill has ignited a firestorm, not just because of how it will affect the media’s ability to investigate elected officials and government agencies, but also because many average citizens and good government groups rely on public records laws to hold officials accountable.
Practically speaking, Cloud’s bill would all but preclude stories Gambit has done on Mayor LaToya Cantrell’s misuse of city funds, along with The Times-Picayune's reporting on sexual harassment at LSU and even in the attorney general’s office under Landry.
When combined with the other power grabs under consideration by lawmakers, Landry’s proposed constitutional convention looms large over fundamental freedoms that protect the health, welfare and opportunities for economic and educational advancement of all Louisianans.
Is this cake baked or nah?
It depends.
Lawmakers have rubber stamped some of Landry’s power grabs. Other proposals by the governor, such as the threats to government transparency, have run into significant headwinds.
Surprisingly to many, Senate Republicans, under the leadership of Senate President Cameron Henry, R-Metairie, have served as needed guard rails by moderating or even forestalling some of the governor’s most egregious excesses.
And right now, they also control the fate of Landry’s proposed constitutional convention.
On May 2, House members took a cue from the Senate by narrowing the scope of the convention’s enabling legislation (HB 800). They added a provision that would prohibit delegates from proposing any changes to the homestead exemption or the Minimum Foundation Formula, which funds K-12 education.
Senate President J. Cameron Henry Jr., R-Metairie, may be the only thing standing in Jeff Landry's way right now.
Both items are considered sacred cows, and many observers saw the amendment as a sign that Landry could not muster the two-thirds House vote unless he made those concessions.
But that’s a slippery slope, because almost immediately afterward sheriffs, DAs and other special interests began demanding concessions of their own.
Assuming the House approves some version of the enabling bill, Senators will ultimately control the fate of Landry’s proposed constitutional convention.
Early on, Henry publicly expressed many senators’ skepticism about a quickie constitutional convention. That caused Landry to shift gears and support a convention that overlaps with the last two weeks of the regular session — from May 20 to June 3.
More importantly, many Senate Republicans quietly express serious reservations about vesting so much power in the executive — particularly after GOP lawmakers fought long and hard for legislative independence during the eight years of Democrat John Bel Edwards’ two terms as governor.
That’s not to say Republican senators won’t ultimately give Landry some version of what he wants.
The Senate, as Alford and other veteran observers are quick to note, has traditionally been every governor’s political sandbox.
"Any smart governor knows how to count votes in the Senate — and how to horse trade to get what they really want,” says Alford.
And, when horse trading won’t get the job done, there’s always the veto pen, especially the line-item pen on spending bills — which gives Landry a political atomic bomb.
“You’ve got a new governor who’s as gung-ho as he can be,” says Alford. “You’ve got a new generation of lawmakers who are eager to break with the past, and you’ve got the special interests already at the table. The checks have already been written.”
“The only thing standing in their way,” Alford adds, “is Cameron Henry.”
